Page 41

Charlie

One week, six hours and twenty-three minutes. Not that I’ve been counting.

I’ve found that bourbon mixes well with coffee. I drink it black, strong, and boring, like most things these days. I sleep, I work, I go home, and repeat. Everyone avoids me, even Dad, who sidesteps around me like I might rip his kidneys out.

Things seem a little quieter. Lionel isn’t singing along to the old songs on the radio, Marybeth has a scowl on her face when she’s not waiting tables, hell, even the sky is pissed off. It rains a dull, light rain for most of the week, leaving everything muggy and humid as hell when it’s not.

I must debate thousands of times whether I should reach out to Bailey, make sure she made it home safely, but I know that’s not what she wants. A clean break. When the deal is done, we move on and we never speak about it again. Calling or texting her would just prolong the inevitable .

I try to get it in my head that she’s going to find some rich yacht boy to marry. She’ll have his spoiled kids and live out her best days as a Louis Vuitton mom, far, far away from the sweltering heat and fattening foods of New Orleans. Me? I might eventually settle down, once the pain in my chest has subsided into a dull ache that I can ignore, but I don’t plan on it anytime soon.

At the start of week two of the never-ending loop I’m stuck in of work, eat, sleep, repeat, Tom and Andi come home. I only know they’re home because a bucket of cold water is tossed on me in my sleep.

I surge out of the bed, gasping and sputtering before falling to the ground and bruising my knee.

“What the fuck?” I bark, wiping the water out of my eyes. Andi stands at the foot on my bed, bucket in hand and a scowl on her face. “What was that for?”

“Dad says you’ve been sulking since Bailey left.”

I grimace, standing. “So?”

Her eyes bulge in disbelief. “So? So, why haven’t you done anything about it?”

I cross to the bathroom and grab a towel. She’s lucky I wore boxers to bed last night, rather than nothing, like I did when Bailey was here.

“Because I don’t want to,” I counter, drying myself off.

Andi follows me to the bathroom, not caring when I step into the shower and throw my boxer shorts around the curtain.

“She misses you, too.”

“Of course, she does,” I reply smoothly, though a pang of electricity shoots up my chest. Has she heard from her? “I would miss me, too.”

Andi shakes her head and groans. “I know you’re in love with her. Why are you so damned stubborn?” she asks as I turn the shower on. I lather my hair with shampoo, hoping that if I clench my eyes hard enough, I’ll open them and she’ll be gone.

“Must run in the family,” I counter, rinsing.

“Look,” Andi starts, her tone softening. “I know you don’t think you deserve someone like her. I know her mom said some stupid shit, but she doesn’t know you, Charlie. Do you think Tom’s mom likes me?”

I don’t answer. Tom had never said anything about a quarrel between his mom and my sister. It irks me that someone would be treating her like she’s second rate.

“She’s stuck with me and if Bailey loves you like I know she does, then her mom will have to suck it up, too.”

I rinse the soap off my body and let the hot water work out the kinks in my back. Funny — I didn’t have any issues with aches and pains when I was fucking Bailey eight ways to Sunday, but now that she’s gone and I haven’t slept with anyone, my back kills.

“Throw me a towel.”

She obliges, hitting me in the face with it.

“Just think about it, okay? I think you’d be making a big mistake by giving up this easily.”

I brace a hand on the shower, prepared to give her the same spiel I’ve given anyone else who brought up Bailey, but I don’t. There’s no point in lying to her. Andi knows. She always seems to know.

“I don’t know what witchcraft shit you’re in to, but you need to stop with the magically knowing exactly what I’m feeling.”

She chuckles. “I’m just very observant. I knew before it even happened. It was all over your face.” I wrap the towel securely around my waist and slide the shower curtain open. Andi takes a deep breath, her eyes gleaming at the corners. “I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that, Charlie.”

I grimace. God, women and their fucking feelings. “Like what?”

“Like Dad used to look at Mom.”

I run my tongue over my teeth and lean back against the wall.

“Can we talk about this another day? When you aren’t standing in my bathroom and I’m not in a towel?”

She rolls her eyes, punching me in the arm.

“Fine. I have things to do, anyway. No one tells you how far behind you fall after a week honeymoon.”

“Do I even want to ask how it was?”

She raises her eyebrows, wagging them at me. “Probably not, though I will say, Puerto Rico is very, very hot.”

“The offer still stands. Just because you’re married, doesn’t mean I won’t kill him.”

Dad tells me he has someone who wants to rent the other house out for a week when I get to work a couple hours later and he wants me to clean it up and make sure it’s ready.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I groan under my breath when I walk in after my shift. It fucking smells like her. Even after eight days. My mouth waters at the familiar perfume and I take a tentative step inside.

Everything is spotless, from what I can see, but I know if I leave one, single sock, Dad will have my ass. I step through the house, almost creeped out. It’s like a tomb, or a house after someone passed. It reminds me of Mom’s house, empty after she was gone. It’s like Bailey just sucked the life out of the walls when she left.

I check the cabinets and the fridge in the kitchen, the spare bedroom upstairs, I move the couch and make sure nothing fell underneath. Bailey cleaned the place from top to bottom, not missing a single speck of dust.

I avoid her bedroom until the very end. Stepping inside, my eyes immediately fall on the bed where we’d crossed a new territory for the both of us. That moment feels light years away now.

I’m turning to leave when my eyes catch on an envelope on top of the dresser, addressed to me in big, sprawling cursive. I reach for it, debating on burning it straight away. Reading this will probably put me right back at square one. I’ve already looked into flights to LAX over twenty times and talked myself out of it. I’m liable to buy a fucking plane and go get her myself.

But curiosity gets the better of me and I sit on the edge of the bed, cutting the envelope open carefully with my pocket knife.

It’s a Dear John letter to me, dated the day before she left. Something heavy falls out of the envelope and a flash drive clatters to the floor.

Fuck, this is going to hurt .

Charlie,

I’m not really sure how to start this. I’m not good at goodbyes, obviously. I’m not good at a lot of things, especially, cooking, though you’ve taught me how to make a few things.

Something in particular, though, that I wish I could change, is my inability to express my feelings when it comes to you. I always thought you hated me and maybe you do, but I can’t stop replaying the last five weeks over in my head and smiling.

I agreed to the “deal” because I thought there was nothing about you, besides sex, I could like. You were an asshole, you slept around, you never put the toilet seat down. But you also turned out to be sweet, thoughtful, protective, and a gentleman (and good in bed).

You made me fall in love with you and I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I have to get it off my chest because I feel like I might explode if I don’t. I love you, Charlie Coulter, even with all the bad? — except leaving the toilet seat up. You need to work on that.

I know you think I’m just a Malibu brat with her stepdaddy’s money, and maybe I am, but I’ve never felt more like myself than when I was with you: sweaty, eating butter-soaked crawfish, and dancing to some country song neither of us knew.

I hope one day you can find someone that makes you feel like you’re perfect, because that’s what you did for me.

I love you,

Bailey

P.S. I left my book with you. It will never see the light of day, but I think you’ll find a lot of similarities between you and Heath.

I clutch the note tightly in my hand, rubbing a thumb over my bottom lip. She fucking loves me. She’s not afraid to say it. This note has been here this whole time and I didn’t fucking know? I’m ready to climb on a plane that very second when I spot the flash drive abandoned on the floor.

I scoop it up, taking it and the note back to my house. I plug it into my laptop and open the single document stored in the files. It’s named Steamy-sexy-love-story-that-will-never-see-the-light-of-day.

I chuckle under my breath and start reading.

The knock on my door startles me, even though I knew it was coming. I open it, seeing Dad standing there, his expression guarded.

“Son. I’m here,” he says, stepping past me and into the house. “Just like you asked.”

I nod, shutting the door behind me. This isn’t something I have to do. Just something I need to do if I’m ever going to move forward.

“Well, take a seat. I think we need to talk.”

Dad sits on the sofa and I take the chair in front of him. I don’t think Dad and I have ever sat down like this and talked, man to man, save for one time. When I bought the bar portion of Lafayette’s.

“So, talk to me. What’s going on?”

I grit my teeth, rubbing my thumb over my lips as I try to think of what I want to say.

After a moment, Dad stops me.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure we can fix it.”

I meet his gaze and see the sincerity in his blue eyes. His are light, but not the grey that both Andi and I inherited from our mother.

Shit, this is going to fucking suck.

“I want to talk about Mom.”

Dad stills, the entire room freezing around us as if the world stopped. The silence that stretches on is deafening.

After what seems like forever, Dad clears his throat.

“I was wondering when we were finally going to talk about this.”

I nod, staring down at the carpet.

“I’ve been putting it off.”

“You’ve been living in the guilt.” Dad sits forward on the couch, crossing his hands and leaning forward on his knees. “Let me tell you what I know about that night.”

Shit.

“You worked. You took care of your mom. You slept a couple hours. Then you woke up and did it all over again for almost a year. It’s only natural to want a night away.”

“I was an idiot. I should have been there.”

“You were there. How could you have known what was going to happen? She was by herself while you were working. It could have happened then.”

“But it didn’t. She called me and I didn’t see the calls until it was too late.”

Guilt crashes in on me, suffocating like the weight of the ocean. This is why I bury that night down in the darkest pits of my mind because facing it, knowing what I’ve done, is worse than living with the dull ache every day.

“What is it going to take for you to forgive yourself?” Dad asks, raising his brows at me.

How do I even answer that?

“Do you want me to tell you I don’t blame you? Hmm? Well, I don’t blame you.”

“There’s no way,” I shake my head, but he holds his hand up to stop me before I can say anything else.

“I don’t blame you. I blame the cancer. I blame the world we live in for making it so expensive to live. Hell, I even blamed God for a little bit because he took such a remarkable woman from my kids.” He sucks in a deep breath. I catch the glint in his eyes as wetness pulls at the corners. “But I never blamed you.”

God, I can feel my own eyes starting to tear. I don’t fucking cry. Dad doesn’t cry, but here we are about to bawl like children.

“I mean it,” he nods and for the first time, I actually fucking believe it.

I lean back in the chair, uncomfortable because a heavy weight seems to be slipping off my shoulders.

“Dad,” I start, pausing to suck in a deep breath. My chest aches, making it harder to breathe. I imagine it’s the disappearance of the hate for myself that’s kept me going this long. Mom’s death is fresh, all over again. I hated myself too much to really feel the impact of her loss. “Why did you divorce? I never asked.”

He chuckles, but it lacks amusement.

“You didn’t notice? I was a drunk. Gambling all our money away. She didn’t like it. ”

Oh. I never knew that.

“Your mom had her faults, we all do, but mine were what drove us apart because I refused to work on them. You’ve got to work at a marriage. That’s something I don’t know that Tom and Andi are prepared for.”

I grit my teeth. Tom and Andi. I still don’t fucking trust Tom. Especially, not after what I heard him say to Bailey.

“Your mom would have loved Bailey,” Dad says quietly, like he’s afraid of scaring me.

“Yeah, she would have.”

“Have you talked to her?”

Save for the letter and her book that I spent all night reading? No.

I shake my head.

“You should see if she’s settling okay, back home.”

“No,” I murmur. “I’m not doing that.”

Dad sighs. Clearly, he’s been talking to Andi.

“I thought you two really had something special.”

“We did,” I agree.

“I thought you loved her.”

“I do.”

Dad stares at me. waiting for me to reconsider.

“And you don’t think she loves you?”

“She does.”

“So, what are you doing sitting here?”

I stare at him, unsure what to say.

“Go get her.”

“I’m not pulling her from her life there.”

“She’s said it herself. She’s not happy there. The only thing stopping you is you.”

“No, because you know what will happen?” I ask, standing from the chair. All the emotions I’ve been working hard to squash down the last couple weeks come rising to the surface. Red hot rage pierces through me, burning through my veins until there’s nothing else I can feel. “She’ll think I’m fucking crazy for showing up there. She’ll send me on my way because I don’t have what she needs.”

“Bullshit. She’s in love with you and you know it.” Dad stands, squaring his shoulders at me.

“She’s too fucking good for me,” I snap, my temper flaring.

Dad’s voice rises above mine when I try to speak again, effectively cutting me off. “I didn’t raise you to be a coward!” I fall silent, shocked like he’s fucking decked me. “You’ve been walking around here with your dick tucked between your legs for a week, pissed off and moody. You love her? Then stop whining about it and do something about it.”

You know that feeling when the world rears it’s ugly fucking head and shows you what a bitch you are? Yeah, this is one of those moments.

“If she sends you away, then you go with your head on straight and give her that, but don’t let her go and not try.”

I wipe a hand over my face and pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

“You’re a good man, Charlie. A great man. You deserve a great woman. I think you found that.”

I can’t believe I’m fucking thinking this over.

My phone vibrates on the coffee table and a number I don’t recognize lights up the screen .

“You going to get that?” Dad asks, cocking a brow at me.

I shake my head, just as it cuts off. I open my mouth to reiterate whatever fucking point I was trying to make earlier.

Before I can, the phone rings again, the same number calling back.

“Jesus,” I grumble, snatching it off the table. “I don’t want anything,” I snap when I answer the phone, agitation willing me to throw the damned thing at the fucking wall.

“Charles Coulter,” a soft, sophisticated voice says into the receiver.

“Yeah? Who is this?”

“Well, my daughter told me you were a nice man. I’m not so sure about that now.”

I look at Dad, bewildered and he holds up his hands, confused.

“Monica Parker?”

She laughs, the sound breathier than Bailey’s, less genuine. “Truly. Now, I think you and I have to have a chat. What are your plans for this weekend?”